“The Plunge” — C.Birde, 4/17

Climbing, climbing, climbing. One step at a time. Ever upward. The rise and fall of my steps easy over rough ground and patchy turf. Cool air moves passed my lips. I inhale the night, fill my lungs, exhale. Each breath is as smooth and rhythmic as my gait. Still, I climb. Tireless. A modern-day Sisyphus, with no stone to push, yet no end in sight.

Climbing, climbing. Step after step.  Up and up. With nary an aching limb or rapid beat of heart. Grass gives way to patchy snow — a haphazard quilt of green and white. Until the snow’s mantle consumes the slope, uninterrupted. And  when, at last, I reach the top, my step neither slows nor falters — not to consider the path chosen, or exult in quiet isolation at the climb accomplished; not to take in the view of the vast night sky from the peak.

I simply — easily, one foot after another — step off the edge…

…as effortlessly and as resolutely as I had climbed…

…without quickening pulse or gasp of breath…

…and tumble down…

…through endless…

…swallowing…

…dark.

— C.Birde, 4/17